


Reunion

by LobsterLobster



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fluff, Richonne - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:28:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LobsterLobster/pseuds/LobsterLobster
Summary: After the prison falls, Rick and Carl are reunited with Michonne. Can they rebuild their lives together?





	1. It's For You

Rick and Carl sat side by side on the floor leaning against the ratty couch. The house was a mess. That and the broken lock clearly indicated it had already been ransacked at least once or twice already, though it was impossible to know how recently.

“There was some more food,” Carl said, “but I ate it.”

“Oh,” Rick said.

Carl was a little worried that he might be reproached for this admission. He really should have brought it back to share, but he’d hardly been in the state of mind to do that.

“What was it?” Rick asked.

Even after everything that had happened to them, even when Carl was hurt and angry, he never lied to his dad, and for that Rick was incredibly grateful. He’d really meant it when he told Carl that he was proud of him.

“A hundred twenty ounces of chocolate pudding,” Carl said with a slight smile.

Rick considered that for a moment then nodded approvingly, “Good.”

“I found some cereal and something that looks like rice puffs,” Carl held up the plastic bag in his hand.

Together they munched on the stale cereal flakes, passing a water bottle between them. Softened with a sip of water, the crumbly flakes were barely edible.

A loud knock at the door nearly made Rick jump out of his skin. Startled, they both jumped to their feet, guns in hands.

Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard the sound of someone knocking on a door. It probably hadn’t happened since before the world had changed. He moved painfully to the door and peeked through the peephole.

He could make out a familiar face smiling back at him through the fuzzy peephole. Relief fell on him like a surprise downpour. He fell back on the couch laughing in disbelief.

“What?” Carl asked, now becoming seriously concerned that his dad had lost his mind for good this time.

“It’s for you,” Rick answered, nodding towards the door.

Carl frowned in puzzlement. Why couldn’t adults ever give a straight answer? He stepped over and pushed aside a ragged curtain from the window beside the door.

“Ohh! Michonne!!!” he yelled out in joy, banging on the window.

“Dad! She’s alive!” he yelled, throwing his arms around his dad’s neck.

“Well go let her in,” Rick said, smiling.

Carl banged on the window again, calling, “Hold on! I’ll come around the side to get you, okay?”

He ran through the house to the kitchen and threw open the door, racing along the wrap-around porch to the front of the house. He barely slowed down before wrapping his arms tightly around Michonne.

“I thought you were dead…” he cried in relief.

Michonne squeezed her eyes shut and hugged him back, resting her chin on top of his head, momentarily overwhelmed. It’d been so long since anyone had hugged her. Michonne felt something click into place in her heart.

Finally Carl pulled back and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, asking, “How did you get out? I saw you down there by the…by the tank. How did you find us?”

He didn’t really want to think about what happened back at the prison, didn’t want to look back, but couldn’t help asking everything all at once.

 “After I got loose and helped you dad up, there were walkers all over,” Michonne retold a much abbreviated version of the events in question, “When I turned around again he was gone and I couldn’t see anybody.”

“Eventually I saw your footprints on the dirt trail and here you are,” she concluded with a smile.

“Are you okay, Carl?” she asked in a softer voice, her smile giving way to concern.

He nodded, hoping she wouldn’t ask any further.

“I’m okay, but my dad’s pretty beat up,” his voice came out quieter than he wanted. He glanced up and down the street, ostensibly to check for walkers, before the moment became too heavy.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Carl said, leading the way back around the house.

Back inside, Rick stood awkwardly attempting to keep most of his weight off his injured leg.

“Boy, am I glad to see you,” he told Michonne warmly, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, “You too, Rick.”

Moving on impulse, Michonne stepped closer and hugged Rick, draping her arms around his neck.

“Oh,” Rick said, eyes widening in surprise at his second unexpected hug of the day.

Thinking she’d made a mistake, Michonne started to backtrack but then Rick’s reflexes kicked in and he hugged her back. The closeness felt good.

After a moment, Michonne pulled back and for the first time got a good look at him. His face was red in places and badly swollen.

“Are you in pain?” she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to gauge how bad it was.

“Absolutely,” Rick replied, not quite smiling.

“I got punched, you know,” he drawled, pointing vaguely to his face, “right here.”

“Yes, I know,” Michonne said, nodding, “I was there.”                            

“I was shot too,” Rick said. Now he was outright bantering with Michonne and Carl was smirking, but he didn’t care. “Grazed my leg, right here.”

Michonne bent to check his makeshift bandage. She’d have to find something better later.

“Hey, now we match,” she teased, “I was shot almost the same place, remember, that very first day I found the prison.”

“I remember,” Rick said, sitting back down on the couch, wincing involuntarily at the movement.

Carl looked up at Michonne and asked, “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head no. Suddenly she realized how empty her stomach was. She hadn’t eaten more than a few handfuls of berries since well before she and Hershal were kidnapped.

“Here, we’ve got a couple things of cereal,” Carl said as he rummaged for the stash, “This sugary one is alright.”

“Thank you,” Michonne gratefully took a bag and the two sat on the floor to eat.

“Maybe tomorrow we can go look for more,” Carl was saying.

“Mhmm,” Michonne agreed around a mouthful of some very crunchy Fruit Loops.

Rick slowly laid himself back down on the couch, stretching his legs out carefully. The adrenalin of the sudden reunion was rapidly giving way to exhaustion.

‘The first day I saw the prison, you could have left me where I fell out there, surrounded by walkers, but you saved my life,’ Michonne thought as she watched Rick fall asleep, ‘Then I saved your life on the last day I saw the prison. It was far too little, much too late…’

She looked at Carl and Rick. They were the closest thing to a family that she’d had in a very long time.

‘But maybe, if the three of us can stay together, maybe it’s enough.’

* * *

TBC!

 

 


	2. Done Taking Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michonne and Carl are about to head back home to Rick after gathering supplies when Carl spots something interesting in the backyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag to the episode “Claimed”. Everything happens the same as it did in the show, except that Joe and company never show up.

 

Michonne walked into the kitchen to find Rick aimlessly looking around, opening and closing drawers.

“Thank you,” Rick told her, “I heard him laughing in there. Almost forgot what that sounds like.”

He looked up at Michonne, leaning against the counter by the door.

“I can’t be his father and his best friend. He needs you,” Rick said.

He’d wanted to say those words for weeks now, every time Michonne left the prison by herself armed with a new plan to search for the Governor, smiling and promising to bring back treats.

Things were better when she was around. When she rode off on each new mission, Carl would be disappointed and lonely for days. Rick noticed but he kept quiet. It wasn’t his place to ask her to stay.

_Things are different now. I’m just short of asking her to be part of my family now. What if she doesn’t want that?_

“Now, I know that’s a lot to throw at you, so if you’re ever feeling that you need a break-”

“I’m done taking breaks,” Michonne interrupted, holding his eyes for a long moment. There was a sense of finality to her tone.  

_I’m done running off. I’m done walking around like a dead person. Like Daryl says, nobody can make it on their own anymore._

Rick broke her gaze. He rummaged in a drawer, fiddled with a pair of kitchen scissors.  

“So what’s the plan? This place, is it home?” Michonne asked, “Or just a stop along the way?”

 _Plan? I don’t have any kind of plan._ Rick was unprepared to make that decision.

“Well, let’s just stay here while we figure it out,” was the best answer he could come up with.

“Alright,” Michonne agreed, “We’ll need some more supplies. I’ll take Carl and get some.”

She started to turn and go.

“I’ll come too,” Rick said, stopping her before she even got to the doorway.

“You were unconscious yesterday,” Michonne said pointedly.

“Well I’m awake today,” he protested.

“We need you strong. Just rest,” Michonne told him gently, “just one more day.”

Rick gave in. He watched her turn and walk down the hallway to find Carl. The idea of being left behind didn’t sit well with him but he knew she was right.

It was a relief to be able to share the role of protector. More than that, it was nice to have someone to care for him, to tell him to rest.

* * *

Michonne and Carl made a good team. Together they cleared three houses, only coming across a handful of walkers which were quickly dispatched. Michonne made sure she was through the door first each time, telling Carl that he needed to save his bullets while he could.

She was almost surprised to find herself telling Carl about Andre, but it felt like the right thing to do. _It was the right moment. He needs to know he’s not alone._

“Come on, it’s almost noon. Your dad will worry if we’re not back soon,” Michonne said and the two began to make their way through the house.

“Whoa! What’s that?” Carl stopped short, pointing out a window into the backyard.

“Looks like a helicopter crash,” Michonne said, peering through the dirty window.

“Was it a police helicopter?” Carl asked curiously. Once, in second grade, his dad had let him sit in a police helicopter on take-your-child-to-work day.

“Med evac, I think,” Michonne said, “We should check it out.”

The yard was pretty overgrown and there were a few large tree branches in around the wreckage.

“No, look,” Carl said, pointing, “Walkers.”

Sure enough, barely visible from their window were a couple decomposing walkers moving slowly about the yard.

“Let’s go upstairs to get a better look,” Michonne whispered and they moved quietly into the hall and climbed the stairs to the second floor. They’d already cleared the rooms but had paid little attention to the windows.

“They haven’t noticed us,” Michonne said, assessing the threat, “I count four. No, five.”

Sections of the formerly white picket fence had fallen down. One of the walkers wore a flight helmet, and another the shredded remains of an EMT jacket, but the others had probably wandered into the yard and gotten stuck there, shuffling around in endless circles. They did that sometimes.  

“There’s too many,” Carl said, turning away from the window, “Michonne, come on, let’s go back.”

“Hold up,” Michonne said slowly, “…I have a plan.”

Carl paused at the top of the stairs, waiting.

“Remember that day we were in your old neighborhood, and we went into that restaurant to get your picture frame?”

“Yeah,” Carl said. Now that picture was gone. He’d never see it again.

“We’ll do it like that. You stand here at the window and make some noise to distract the walkers, meanwhile-”

“You sneak around behind them and grab the stuff? But won’t it take a while to look around? They’ll notice you for sure,” Carl said, frowning.

“I’ll have to cut them down first, and then we can look for any medical supplies,” Michonne explained.

“What kind of plan is that?” Carl was growing more incredulous. _Why does she want to go out there by herself? This is hardly the same as the photo mission._

“Listen, you stay here, give me a couple minutes go make my way around the side to where the fence is down over there,” Michonne pointed, “then you start yelling and get the walkers to come towards the house. Then I’ll go in and kill them with my sword.”

“It’s perfect, Carl. Only a few walkers, a nice open space, and if I catch them unawares…”

“Are you _sure_?” he asked.    

Michonne nodded seriously. “Plus you’ll be here to act as my lookout. If it starts to go bad, I’ll yell. How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two in my dad’s gun, one in mine,” he replied, looking up at her with a worried expression.

“Trust me. I can do this,” she said, then added, “I’ve done it before.”

Carl sighed. “Okay. If you’re sure, then we’ll do it.”

_Dad said to follow her lead. I can shoot three walkers, easy. Then she’ll only have to fight two by herself… This better be worth it._

Michonne opened the window slowly so it wouldn’t squeak. The screen was torn.

“Give me about three minutes to get over there, then yell for the walkers, okay?” Michonne gave one last instruction as Carl checked his dad’s gun, “Remember, don’t shoot unless you absolutely have to. Only if I yell for you.”   

Michonne gave him a reassuring smile.

“Got it,” Carl said and returned her smile. He was still a bit worried, but he was also excited. After all, most of his dad’s plans were at least twice as crazy as this.

With that, the plan was set in motion.

* * *

TBC!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview: Cursing out the walkers seems to be becoming a habit for Carl.


	3. Stand and Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Michonne in over her head? Will Carl be able to help her?

 

Michonne walked through the overgrown grass. She paused at the break in the fence, waiting for Carl’s signal. _If that med evac had any antibiotics or clean bandages, they’re probably still there. I need them for Rick._

Right on time, the meandering walkers were distracted by a loud banging sound.

“Hey you! Hey asshole! Hey shitface! Over here! Yeah you!” Carl hollered at the top of his voice, banging the butt of his gun against the windowpane above his head.

Michonne poked her head around the fencepost. The walkers in the yard were turning towards the sound of Carl’s voice, ambling towards the house, their pained growls and hisses filling the air.

Drawing her sword, Michonne counted to three then moved carefully over the broken pickets and into the center of the yard.

Katana held at the ready in front of her, Michonne took a steadying breath and centered her energy.

The last walker straggling behind the others, the one wearing a tattered flight suit and cracked and bloody helmet, swung around and came towards Michonne. The walker dragged a broken and twisted leg behind it in a slow limp, Carl’s shouted obscenities abandoned for something more interesting.

One swing of the sword and the walker fell to the ground, its newly detached head rolling away to the side. After that the other walkers took notice and began to switch direction.  

Michonne adjusted her stance, moved a little to the right, chose the best angle of attack, and brought her sword through a long sweep, neatly decapitating the next two corpses in one motion. 

By then the fourth walker was coming at her from the side, decaying arms reaching out beseechingly. She brought her blade sharply upward, cutting through its chest.

One more to go.

“Michonne!” Carl yelled, his voice filled with a shrill urgency, “Behind you!”

She spun around to see several more walkers coming for her. _Where did they come from?_ She turned back just in time to catch the EMT jacket walker, knocking it over with a kick to the chest.

Michonne ran across the yard, leaping over the fallen corpses, desperate to put some distance between herself and the new walkers behind her. She ducked under a low tree branch and scrambled through another break in the fence, scraping her shoulder on the rough wood.

 “No!” Carl bit back that familiar terror and aimed his dad’s revolver.

BAM! BAM!

One walker went down. Another was hit in the shoulder, stumbled, and continued on in pursuit of Michonne. She’d disappeared somewhere around the side of the house.

Carl holstered the empty revolver and pulled his gun from his waistband, his actions more muscle memory than anything else. He aimed again, leaning out the window, trying to get an angle on the last walker lurching across the yard.

One bullet left. _Aim carefully. Michonne’s in trouble!_ He hesitated a second too long and the walker’s head passed out of his line of sight. _Too late! Go!_

Carl spun on his heels and raced through the house, leaping down the stairs. He landed heavily, recovered, threw himself out the front door.

 _Please be okay! Please be okay!_ He willed himself not to panic. _Run faster! You can still help!_

Carl ran around the side of the house, heart pounding in his chest. He stopped short, raised his gun, eyes squinting against the sun for a target.

Then he saw it.

His closest friend in this world was standing there alone, surrounded by hungry walkers.

Michonne took a step backwards and spun, her dreadlocks seeming to float in the air, sunlight glinting off her blade like it was made of fire as she seamlessly decapitated one walker, then another, and another. Then, slashing again, she cut down the last walker, the one Carl had almost shot from the window.

In seconds it was over and the air was still again.

Carl lowered his gun.

Michonne looked around, waiting to see if any more walkers were coming.

“Carl!” she said, spotting him, “Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” he repeated, incredulous, “Michonne, are _you_ okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, out of breath, holding out a hand, “Wait there.”

Carl didn’t listen. He made his way over to her, stepping over and around the corpses scattered around.

He paused by one that was still moving, growling, partially pinned underneath a large dead walker. He clinched his fists and brought his boot down with all the force he could muster, smashing in its skull.

Michonne finished checking the rest of the downed walkers and looked at her bloodied sword. With a sharp flick of the wrist, dark droplets were flung away from the blade. She turned towards Carl.

“Are you really okay?” he asked, the after effects of that much adrenaline making him a little shaky.

Michonne nodded. She tried to give a reassuring smile, knowing that she’d almost gotten herself into quite a mess this time.

Carl wanted to shout, ‘How could you do something so reckless, all by yourself? Don’t you know how scared I was?’ but at the same time he was filled with a sort of stunned admiration. He knew she was good with the sword, but this was something else entirely. _How did she do that?_

Instead he settled for grabbing her hand and saying simply, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” she squeezed his hand, “I didn’t do all that for nothing. We have to check that helicopter.”

“Seriously?” Carl protested, but let himself be pulled along back towards the wreck, “We should just get back to my dad before anything else happens, okay?”

Standing by a broken rotor blade, Carl could see that under the dirt and fallen tree branches, the body of the helicopter had originally been painted in white and red like an ambulance. The tail section had broken off and the cockpit was badly crushed.

Michonne cautiously looked around, pushing aside dangling wires and cobwebs, until she found what she was looking for. 

“Hurry up! Let’s go!”

“Almost,” Michonne grabbed the strap and yanked, “got it…”

She gave another pull and the canvas bag came free.

“This should do it,” she set the bag down on the grass and unzipped it to find all the emergency medical supplies intact. She zipped the bag closed and slung it over her shoulder.

Carl led the way back to the front of the house where they’d left the rest of their gathered supplies.

“So, I have an idea,” Carl said as they skirted the massacred walkers, squinting up at Michonne, “maybe we don’t tell my dad about all the…”

He trailed off, but Michonne understood.

“That might be best,” she frowned, holding out her arms and looking herself over. There was blood splattered over her white shirt. _That was really stupid. I should stop with the plan-making for now. I can’t take those crazy chances like I used to by myself, not with Rick and Carl counting on me._

“Good thing you washed your other shirt,” Carl attempted levity as they walked down the street back to their house.

“Yeah, but this one was my favorite.”

* * *

TBC!


	4. Someone to Share the Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick has some time to reflect on his life and his family while he waits for Michonne and Carl to return from gathering supplies. Then we move on to the more pressing questions: Will Michonne be any good at first aid? Will Rick finally confess his true feelings? Will Carl ever get to eat Crazy Cheese?

 

A low rumble pulled Rick from his sleep. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to decide if the noise had come from his fast-receding dream or from something more immediate.

He rubbed his hands over his face, wincing at the sudden pain from the bruising around his temple, and opened his eyes. He was laying in the upstairs bedroom in the house he and Carl had found, waiting for Carl and Michonne to return.

He heard the distant noise again and realized that it was only thunder.

Moving stiffly, Rick sat up and reached for the broken watch band on the bedside table. He was usually a light sleeper but this time he’d been out cold and he had no idea how long he’d been lying there.

It was about a quarter ‘til noon. Carl and Michonne should be back soon.

Rick picked up the plastic water bottle. He poured some water into his good left hand and splashed it on his face to wake himself up, then drank the rest and made his way down to the front of the house.

The street was quiet, empty. The sky was looking more and more overcast, the kind of clouds that made all the overgrown grass and trees look even greener than usual.

He leaned on the porch railing, keeping a watchful eye out for Michonne and Carl.

A strange feeling of deja-vu came over Rick. Suddenly he remembered a snippet of what he’d been dreaming before the thunder woke him.

In the dream, Rick stood right there on the porch, the same way he had a few hours earlier. His son and his friend stood in front of him, just as they had this morning. Beyond that, the dream memory diverged from reality.

Instead of his revolver, Rick handed Carl a packed lunch in a brown paper bag. Instead of a holster strapped to his leg, Carl wore a backpack full of school books. Instead of his battered old Sherriff’s hat, the boy wore a new baseball cap.

Carl smiled up at him, “Thanks, Dad.”

“Have a good day, buddy,” Rick said, patting Carl’s shoulder.

Michonne followed Carl down the steps. Instead of a sword and empty duffle bags to fill with food and medicine, she carried a big poster board for Carl’s latest school project.

Before they turned and made their way down the driveway, Carl stopped and waved back at Rick, “See ya later!”

Michonne almost dropped the awkwardly large poster board, but then got a better grip on it. She grinned and gave Rick a cute wink.

Rick laughed and waved back, leaning forward against the porch railing. He watched them walk to the bus stop together, laughing over something from the latest comic books Michonne had picked up.

Rick blinked and reluctantly brought himself back to the present.

He didn’t usually let himself entertain thoughts of what might have been or what things might be like, in a different world. It was no use daydreaming about the impossible, but this time he found himself smiling at the image of the three of them building a little family together.  

The wind began to pick up and Rick spotted two squirrels chasing each other up and around the tree trunk, chattering away. _If Daryl were here, we’d be eating roasted squirrel right now._

That thought hit him like a cold splash of water. If anyone else was to have made it out of the prison, it would have been the surly redneck, right? _No, Daryl’s the type to go down fighting. He was ready to die fighting the night the farm fell. He’s gone now._

Rick felt the sadness creeping up, pulling on his arms, pushing his head down.

“No,” he whispered, hands gripping the porch railing so tight that his knuckles went white.

He said it again, more firmly, “ _No._ ”

_I’m done looking back. Daryl, Glenn, little Judith…Lori…Shane. They’re all gone. I loved them and now they’re gone...But I can’t go back._

Rick lifted his head and stood up straighter. _I’m done killing myself with guilt. Done taking breaks._

Thunder rumbled again long and low somewhere in the distance and the wind picked up, swirling leaves across the yard.

Another glance at his watch told him that it was now 12:08. Worried, Rick looked down the street again. There was still no sign of Carl or Michonne.

_Don’t worry just yet_ , he told himself. They only had the sun to judge the passing time by and that was quickly disappearing behind dark clouds.

These days, storms can be both a blessing and a curse. Fresh water is hard to come by without rain and, if the storm is loud enough, it will confuse any nearby walkers, sending them wandering off in random directions. Even so, it could be dangerous to be caught without shelter.

Rick abandoned his post by the door and walked cautiously out into the middle of the street.

No sign of walkers. No sign of Carl and Michonne. The minutes trudged by.

_Is that them?_ Rick squinted to see two figures approaching around the bend in the street.

As they drew closer, the taller one raised a hand in greeting, which Rick returned, smiling in relief.

A jagged bolt of lightning cracked open the sky and the following boom making him flinch. It sounded close. He started walking towards Michonne and Carl as they picked up their pace.

“Here, this is for you,” Michonne said by way of greeting, handing the largest canvas bag to Rick.

“Have any trouble?” Rick asked, apprehensively noting the blood splatters across her shirt.

“I got a little more than I bargained for at the last house,” she admitted, “but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Rick slung the black strap over his shoulder. It was heavier than it looked.

Turning to walk beside Carl, he asked, “You okay?”

Carl nodded, “I’m okay. Used your last bullets though.”

His words were almost drowned out by a boom of thunder. All at once the sky opened up and huge raindrops filled the air. The three survivors broke into a run, as best they could while burdened with heavy bags slung over their shoulders.

Carl got to the door first and shoved it wide open, everyone piling inside to get out of the drenching rain. Rick pushed the door closed behind them before the wind could blow any more rain inside. They all dropped their bags on the ground and caught their breath.

“Oh! That was refreshing!” Michonne said, shaking her head vigorously, her long hair spraying water drops all around.

“Hey! Watch out!” Carl exclaimed, putting his hands up in a vain effort to block the water.

“Carl, this is the only way I can dry my hair,” she said matter-of-factly, before shaking her head once more.

“No it’s not!” Carl laughed, ducking behind Rick, “Michonne! Stop!”

“Stop! Hey!” Rick protested, laughing out loud.

She finally stopped and wiped the water from her face. She grinned, feeling incredibly pleased that she’d made them both laugh. Rick had one hand pressed against his aching ribs.

“You’re looking better,” Michonne told Rick, looking him over. He’d washed most of the dried blood off his face and found a clean shirt while they were gone.

She found it rather endearing when his hair got messed up and stray curls fell into his face. She looked away before she could follow that thought any further.

“Come on, help me push this back up,” she told Carl, moving to push the couch to block the door again.

“Find anything good?” Rick asked, nudging a bag with his foot.

“Yeah, we got a couple boxes of energy bars, some spare batteries, flashlights,” Michonne said.

“Some crazy cheese,” Carl added, smiling up at her.

“That one’s first aid stuff,” she told Rick, pointing to the large bag that he’d carried in, which he now noticed had EMS stenciled on the side.

“You’d better let me take a look at you,” she told him, meeting his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t protest.

Rick considered this. _All things considered, having Michonne give me first aid is certainly not the worst thing that could happen._ He gave her a small nod of assent.

Taking a look in the EMS bag, Rick saw that it appeared to be fully stocked.

He added, “I’m surprised no one got to this, after all this time.”

“Not really…” Carl said to himself. _You didn’t see all the walkers surrounding it._

Carl set about taking inventory of their gathered supplies.

During the winter after they left the farm, he and Beth developed a strategy that involved dumping everything out on the floor, sorting out the food into rations, and then making sure the other bags have a good mix of useful items.

_Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, like Beth said._ Carl paused in his work, listening to Michonne taking his dad upstairs with the first aid kit. _I wonder if Beth made it out. She was always with Judith…_

Carl clenched his fists and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. _No. Don’t think about that now._

_You have a job to do._

* * *

“Michonne! What happened?” Rick suddenly asked, grabbing her arm.

“What?” she asked, startled, trying to see what he was looking at.

Sure enough, her shirt was torn and there was fresh blood on her shoulder. It was her blood.

“Did you-” Rick cut himself off before he finished that question. _No way she got bit. She would say something. Right?_

“Relax! It’s nothing,” Michonne said, noting the panic in Rick’s eyes, “I scraped my arm against a fence back there. Didn’t realize it was cut.”

Rick felt his heart start beating again. He dropped his hand.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he was still worried.

“It’s just a scrape. I’m okay, really,” she assured him, carefully looking at her shoulder.

Michonne changed the topic, “You’re still the patient here, remember?”

“Alright,” Rick reluctantly agreed and sat on the side of the bed.

Michonne put the EMT bag next to him and started unpacking things, setting them out on the bedside table. There were gloves, masks, gauze of all shapes and sizes, sterile wipes, IV bags, and an assortment of medicines, sharp scissors, tape, disinfectant, and bandages.

“Okay,” Michonne said, “First step, assess the injuries.”

At this point Rick wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or to herself, so he didn’t say anything.

Michonne leaned in close, her face frowning in concentration. Rick held perfectly still. Her fingers gently brushed across his forehead, under his eye, taking in the cuts and bruises that marked his skin, pushed a stray piece of hair back behind his ear.

“I think the swelling is less today,” she said, pulling back, “How’s your side?”

“Pretty sore,” he admitted.

“I already bound it up,” he added, lifting up his shirt to show the makeshift bandage that he’d torn from a spare sheet. His side was still red and badly bruised from where he’d been tackled by the Governor.

Michonne nodded approvingly, “It’ll probably be sore for a couple days but I don’t think anything’s broken, or you wouldn’t be walking around the way you are.”

She watched as he tugged his shirt back down over the bandage. He was not looking forward to what was coming next. The throbbing pain in his leg wasn’t as bad when he didn’t look at it, or think about it, or touch it.

“And your leg…” Michonne said, right on cue.

Gritting his teeth, Rick managed to carefully untie the bandana that he’d used to stop the bleeding where the bullet had grazed his leg, hoping that would be good enough.

“Gotta take ‘em off,” she said with a sympathetic grimace.

Rick stood up and awkwardly began to undo his belt. Belatedly realizing how uncomfortable the situation was about to become, Michonne turned her back, pretending to look for something on the table. She waited a little while before peeking back to see Rick, now down to his T-shirt and boxers, drop his gun belt and his torn jeans at the end of the bed and sit back down.    

There was a lot of dried blood around the shallow gash in his thigh. Michonne examined the wound with a worried expression, hesitant to touch it just yet. He probably needed stitches, but that was quite outside her realm of experience.

“I think all I can do is clean it up and give you a new bandage,” she told him.

Rick took a deep breath, “Okay.” This was going to hurt, but he knew that with a proper bandage he would heal much more quickly.

“Alright, now it’s time for the next step of first aid,” Michonne narrated, looking through the medicines lined up on the night stand and picking the one she wanted.

“And what is that?” Rick asked slowly.

“Step two…” Michonne held up a small dark colored bottle, a glint in her eye, “Morphine!”

Rick cracked a smile at that news, “Alright, doc, get to work.”

Michonne unscrewed the cap and began to pour the clear liquid into a tiny plastic cup, saying, “I don’t have any idea how much is too much, so we’ll start with a little bit and see how that feels, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. _That’s probably best. I don’t want to be totally passed out in case there’s trouble and we need to run again._

Rick took the proffered cup and downed the bitter medicine in one shot. Michonne put the canvas bag on the ground and instructed Rick to lie down. She cleaned off the dried blood as gently as she could.

Fingers laced behind his head, Rick stared up at the ceiling, focused on keeping his breath even.

“How are you feeling?”

Truthfully, he felt rather dazed. The morphine seemed to be kicking in, softening the pounding in his head and the dull ache through the rest of his body that he’d lived with the last two days. Still, the pressure on his injured leg was creating a sharper pain.

“I think I’ll have a little more, doc,” he sat up unhurriedly, trying to distract himself by teasing Michonne a little bit.

She poured him a little more medicine this time and let that sink in for a few minutes before moving to wrap his leg tightly in a clean white bandage. Her job for the most part done, Michonne cleaned her hands and then tossed the trash into an empty hamper.

Rick’s eyes were growing very heavy. He could hardly feel the pain in his leg, or his side, or any of it for that matter. He felt light but also slow, like he was lying on the softest bed in the world and couldn’t imagine wanting to move.

“Mi…Michonne…” his voice came out sluggishly, indistinctly.

“Hmm?” she sat down beside him, balanced on the edge of the bed. 

“Thank you, Michonne,” Rick said slowly.

“No problem,” she replied.

“No, thank you, for being here,” he said, his voice quiet but clear.

She opened her mouth to respond, _where else does he think I would be?_ but he reached out and closed his hand over hers and she stayed quiet.

“Thank you for being here,” Rick continued, his blue eyes thoughtful, “for being who you are. Ya know, Michonne, I think you always show up right when I need you most. I never realized it before, but I think that’s how it is. Every single time.”

He was quiet for a moment and she almost thought he’d fallen asleep but his voice came softly, “You saved me.”

Michonne tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She laced her fingers through his and held his hand tightly. She looked away, staring out the bedroom window, rain streaming against the glass.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Rick, you saved me too.”

She turned her head back to look at Rick. Now he was definitely asleep.

* * *

TBC!

 


	5. Waking up Next to You

Rick woke slowly, feeling very groggy from the painkillers that he’d taken yesterday afternoon. He could hear a light rain pattering against the windows. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes in the dim room, not sure if it was night or if he’d slept into the next morning.

Rick tried to move but realized that there was something heavy leaning against his side. Confused, he turned his head to see Michonne.

She was curled up beside him, sharing his pillow, arm draped across his chest so her hand rested on his other shoulder.

The moment was so warm and peaceful that, in Rick’s foggy mind, he thought it had to be a dream.

He and Michonne were spending a lazy Saturday morning in bed, slowly waking up to the day, the outside world muffled by the steady rain.

Carl’s baseball game would be cancelled due to the rain. Later, they would go downstairs and make a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, hash-browns, toast, and orange juice.

But for now Rick was comfortable right where he was. Michonne’s soft breath was warm against his neck. Gently, he ran his fingers along her arm, savoring her closeness.

His hand touched something rough. It was a piece of gauze taped to her shoulder. _From where she scraped her arm on a fence post, that’s what she said, after nearly giving me a heart attack, thinking she got bit by a walker._

Rick frowned at that thought, discordant in the quiet dreamlike moment. He felt something stuck on his face. _Strange…_ Reaching up to feel what it was, Rick realized that he had a small band-aid across the ridge of his nose, another on his temple.  

_Ohhh. Michonne was giving me first aid yesterday and I passed out after she bandaged my leg. She must have put these on my face too._

The memories caught up to each other and fell into place in his mind. _She must have fallen asleep and flung her arm over me without realizing it._

Rick felt a twinge of disappointment at the knowledge that his dream wasn’t real. _No, isn’t it better this isn’t just a dream?_

“Mmmm,” Michonne shifted in her sleep, disturbed by Rick’s movements.

 _She’s waking up! What do I do?!_ Rick panicked for a few seconds and then decided that the best possible course of action in this particular situation would be to close his eyes and pretend to be asleep.   

He felt Michonne’s body tense beside him and her arm pulled back. _Too late. She’s awake now._ Rick hesitantly opened his eyes and turned to see Michonne’s brown eyes wide open with a rare mix of surprise and uncertainty.

Michonne reflexively pulled away to lie on her back only to elicit a muffled “Hey…” from Carl, who had been sleeping curled up with his back pressed against Michonne. Last night the storm had been so violent, with no signs of stopping that all three of them had ended up sleeping in the queen sized bed together.

“Sorry, Carl,” Michonne murmured, sitting up instead.

Rick sat up as well, watching Michonne beside him, her hands gripping her knees, head bent forward so she could hide behind her hair.

 _This is something new._ Rick couldn’t help but smile wryly at her awkward position. _I’ve seen her look thoughtful, angry, fierce and focused and ready for battle, or sad when we found Andrea at Woodbury, or happy talking to Carl or teasing Daryl because of his fleas, or alert for danger…but this is the first time I’ve seen her look embarrassed!_

He wanted to reach out and sweep back the dreadlocks from her face so he could see what she was thinking, but he hesitated too long.

“Rick,” she tilted her face to meet his eyes.

“I _wasn’t_ cuddling with you. We were huddled together for warmth.”

Rick blinked.

“Oh,” was all he could manage to say.

For a long moment Michonne stared at Rick, frozen. His expression was so soft and affectionate that part of her wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him soundly on the lips but another part of her wanted to run away and pretend that nothing at all had happened, that she didn’t feel anything at all.

Michonne took a deep breath, seeming to come back to herself.

“I’ll get some breakfast ready,” she said, leaning forward and crawling over the end of the bed.

She picked up her sword from where it rested against the door frame and headed down the hall to the stairs without looking back, leaving Rick sitting on the bed still only dressed in his T-shirt and boxers, looking a little bit dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, Carl got up and retrieved his hat from where it had fallen onto the floor during the night.

Carl looked at his dad and shook his head in disappointment, “You are such a dork.”

“Carl!” Rick exclaimed, astonished at his son’s attitude so early in the morning.

“Dad, if you like Michonne then you should just say it,” Carl declared and promptly ran off.

Rick was stunned into silence. _Am I that obvious?_

He stared at the empty doorway and listened to Carl’s boots stomping down the stairs.

Carl called, “Michonne, wait for me, I want to help!”  

He found her in the kitchen, looking through the meager pile of scavenged foodstuffs on the table.

She held up a box and smiled at him, “Do you like pancakes?”

“No,” Carl answered.

“What?” Michonne looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t eat it. You know I’ll eat anything,” Carl explained, shrugging, “but I’ve never liked pancakes.”

“That, Carl, is blasphemy.”


	6. We're the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is forced to deal with something painful. Will Michonne be able to comfort him?

 

_Well, this is turning into an eventful morning_ , Rick thought to himself, Carl’s words echoing in his mind.

_‘Dad, if you like Michonne then you should just say it.’_

Rick sighed. He knew Carl didn’t backtalk unless he had something that he absolutely had to get off his chest. Even then his words always had a ring of truth to them.

Rick got up slowly, stretching his stiff body. The long rest had done him good but it was time to get a move on.

_First things first._ He began shifting through the bedroom closets until he found what he was looking for.

_Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should just say it,_ he mused, pulling on a pair of dark colored jeans, careful not to mess up the bandage on his aching leg.

_No. It’s more complicated than that and you know it, Rick. You’re not living in some daydream world, playing house together…We’re on the run again and we need to find a way to survive this world._

He found a flannel shirt crumpled in the back of the closet and gratefully slid his arms into the soft sleeves. It was starting to get cool at night. Autumn was well on its way.

Rick walked down the steps, leaning on the railing to keep some of the pressure off his injured leg, hoping to find a coat closet somewhere.

_Wait for now. Wait until the moment is right, then you can tell her._

He checked the windows and doors as he walked around the house. They were safe for time being.

_Hell, she probably knows already. She’s always been able to read my mind, even when I hardly understand my own thoughts._

After some searching Rick found three jackets that they could use. Carl would have to roll his sleeves up but it’d work. He laid them on the couch near the bags of supplies from yesterday’s expedition, all zipped and lined up, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Carl knew the routine well; he hadn’t forgotten the long winter of running from place to place, after they lost the farm.

All along he could hear various clanging sounds and snippets of laughter coming from the kitchen.

Rick stopped at the threshold to the kitchen, leaning against the empty doorframe, watching. It was so rare to see Carl open up and talk freely; he didn’t want to interrupt them just yet.

“If only we had some strawberries,” Carl was saying.

“Or some blueberries,” Michonne added, passing him a stirring spoon.

They had apparently lit a small fire in the kitchen sink and placed a metal grill from the oven over it, frying pan resting on top. The window was opened just enough for ventilation, but not so much that the wind might blow in too much rain.

“Oh I used to _love_ blueberries!” Carl said, reminiscing.

“Is this really going to work?” he asked, still uncertain about the whole endeavor.

They really had found a box of untouched, dry, bug-free pancake mix.

“It’s too bad we don’t have any butter, but this will work just fine,” Michone said as she shook a can of cooking spray, “Trust me.”

“Does this look okay?” Carl showed her the mixing bowl.

Michonne appraised his handiwork, “That should do.”

She used a coffee mug to scoop some runny batter onto the sizzling pan.

“Now, the trick is, don’t try to flip it too soon. Wait until you see little bubbles around the edges. You wait until the moment is right…”

Carl watched intently, “You seem to know a lot about pancakes.”

“I am a pancake master,” she said confidently, eliciting a chuckle from Carl.

“I used to make Andre these little pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse. He would smile and smile. It was the cutest thing.”

Partway through her story Carl caught sight of Rick standing in the doorway. He froze, the laughter falling from his face.

Michonne trailed off, noticing Carl’s stricken expression. She followed his gaze, turning around to see Rick.

Rick’s eyes skated away from hers. He looked at his feet, feeling ashamed for intruding on their conversation. He looked back up at Michonne.

She stood still, the spatula in her hand fell to her side, her expression uncertain, waiting for him to say something.

_You have to say something._ Rick steeled himself against the ice closing around his heart. _No. I don’t want to know. I don’t._

“Who was Andre?” his voice came out softer than he intended, but he got it out.   

Michonne looked calm, determined.

“Andre was my son,” she said, her voice clear but shaded with sadness.

“He was three.”

_No. No…_ Rick thought back to how Michonne was the first time they met. She was so guarded, closed off, so determined to do what she thought was right without asking anyone for help, even if it killed her. How surprised he’d been the first time he’d seen her warm and compassionate side, the special connection she had with Carl; it was a glimpse of what she must have been like before the world moved on.

Michonne was saying something else but her words sounded far away.

He’d always known that something terrible must have happened to her, but the same could be said for anyone still alive today, so he’d never thought too long on what exactly it might have been.

_She was a mother._ To find out so suddenly felt like a sharp blow to the face, leaving his ears ringing, vision blurring around the edges, which had become quite a familiar feeling these days. _We’re the same. We’re the same…she lost Andre and I lost…_

 “Dad, stop it! Don’t do that, please!” Carl pleaded, angry with Rick for making Michonne sad. For reminding him of the one thing he was most trying not to think about. _Everything was okay a minute ago. Why does this always have to happen?_

Rick put his hands to his face only to find it wet with tears. He turned away and walked back through the house in a daze. The floor began tilting one way and then another beneath his feet, threatening to trip him. He reached out and grabbed the stair railing for support.

Back in the kitchen, Carl was trying not to be upset but he didn’t know what to say. Michonne took in his strained expression and knew what she had to do.

“It’s okay, Carl. Wait here,” she told him, dropping the forgotten spatula on the table as she followed after Rick.

_I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t say things without thinking._ Michonne found Rick by the stairs, one hand covering his eyes.

“Hey,” she said softly, placing a hesitant hand on his arm.

“Oh, Michonne…” Rick’s voice cracked as he turned and wrapped his arms around Michonne, unable to fight the tears, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Michonne couldn’t do anything but return the embrace.

“Me too,” she whispered, blinking back her own tears.

“Come on, Rick, let’s sit down,” she said and together they sunk to the floor.

“She’s gone…I couldn’t…” Rick sobbed into her shoulder, arms holding her desperately, and Michonne understood that he was talking about Judith now.

“Rick,” she said softly, taking a deep breath and continuing, “You can’t pretend it never happened, no matter how hard you try. It’s not possible…I know that better than anyone…”

“It’s okay to cry for her, Rick. It’s okay,” Michonne said, soothingly rubbing his back, “I’m here. I have you…”

They sat that way for a long time until finally the sadness and the guilt and the pain receded like the tide going out and Rick could breathe normally again. He was left feeling drained but there was a sense of calm in his heart now.

He closed his eyes, thinking, _just a moment longer_. He was not yet ready to lift his head from its resting place on Michonne’s shoulder. He wasn’t quite ready to show his face.

No, if he was honest, that wasn’t it, not entirely. He wanted to stay in this quiet moment a little longer, memorizing the feel of Michonne’s fingertips tracing his spine, soothing him until he almost wanted to fall asleep.

A clatter sounding from the direction of the kitchen brought him back to the present. _Snap out of it! This is hardly the time to sleep!_

Rick lifted his head and pulled back a little bit. _Oh crap._ He sniffed and awkwardly wiped his nose on his flannel sleeve.

Rick was mortified to realize that he’d definitely gotten snot on Michonne’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, his voice rough from crying.

“Don’t worry about it,” Michonne said, giving a small shrug, “It happens.”

He looked into her face, remembering the day they’d had a similar conversation standing behind the station wagon with bags full of guns and ammunition.

She looked at him with that curious, thoughtful expression that she got sometimes.

“Are you okay?” Rick asked, still sitting very close to her, his arm wrapped around her back, hers draped over his shoulders.

Michonne nodded but didn’t say anything.

Rick looked down then back up at her.

“I’m okay too,” he said.

“I know,” Michonne said.

“How?” Rick asked. _I hardly know if I’m okay, how can she know?_

“Because I’m okay too,” Michonne said simply.

Another series of bangs, louder this time, sounded from the kitchen.

“I should go check on Carl,” Rick said slowly, making no move to get up.

A small teasing smile pulled at Michonne’s lips, “And just for the record, I’m not-”

“Not cuddling me. I know,” Rick finished for her, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Just comforting,” she said.

He nodded once, “I can live with that.” _Can’t remember the last time someone comforted me. It’s been so long…_

Rick couldn’t bring himself to look away from her brown eyes. He wished that time could freeze right there.

The others back at the prison, even those who had been with him from the beginning, whenever they looked at him Rick could see it in their eyes; doubt, or pity, or unmet expectations, uncertainty, resentment. They were all either waiting for him to take control and lead again, to save them, or waiting for him to break down again and maybe prove them right after all.

But Michonne, she was different, she was the only one to look at him like she understood and that was that.

He felt her eyes slowly trace the lines of his face. Her hand rested on the back of his neck. _She’s so close, it would only take…_

“Uh, you guys?” Carl stood anxiously in front of Rick and Michonne.

Rick blinked, focusing on his son. Rick pulled away from Michonne and stood up, their tender moment falling to the floor and rolling away into a corner somewhere.

“Listen, Carl, I don’t want you to-” Rick started but was cut off.

“I need to tell you something important!” Carl interrupted loudly.

Rick raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Carl grimaced, almost reluctant to say it. _I’m going to be in SO much trouble._

* * *

TBC!

Preview: What is Carl’s important announcement? Will this lead to a family bonding moment or something else entirely?

 


	7. Here Goes Nothing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did Carl think about after Michonne went to comfort Rick and he was left alone in the kitchen?

Carl carefully studied Michonne’s movements, determined to absorb as much knowledge as he could.

“You seem to know a lot about pancakes,” he said, mentally noting how much batter she had dropped into the sizzling pan, how she held the spatula, how the batter started to puff up, little air bubbles popping through the surface.

“I am a pancake master,” Michonne replied proudly, like that was a badge of honor or something.

Carl laughed at that. She said such weird things sometimes. Whenever the other adults did something like that he always felt as though they were treating him like a child, but Michonne was different. She was just playing around with him, like a friend.

“I used to make Andre these little pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse,” she continued, “He would smile and smile. It was the cutest thing.”

Partway through her story, something caught Carl’s eye by the doorway. He looked up to see his dad leaning against the doorframe.  

Carl froze in place. _Dad doesn’t know about Andre yet!_

Michonne noticed that he wasn’t saying anything and turned to see what he was looking at.

The quiet stretched out. Carl had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched his dad look down at his feet then back up at Michonne uncertainly.

“Who was Andre?”

“Andre was my son,” Carl heard Michonne reply, that barely hidden sadness in her voice again, “He was three.”

Rick looked stricken, tears starting to spill over his face. Carl couldn’t take it anymore.

“Dad, stop it! Don’t do that, please!” Carl pleaded, angry even though he knew his dad couldn’t help it.

He hated that broken-hearted look that his dad got every time he realized that something terrible had happened.   _Everything was okay a minute ago. Why does this always have to happen?_

Rick turned and walked out of the kitchen, one hand covering his face.

After a slow heartbeat, Michonne told him, “It’s okay, Carl. Wait here,” and followed after his dad.

Carl stood still, looking at Michonne’s spatula, lying discarded on the kitchen table. He felt sad for her again. He felt sad for Judith. _How can we do this? Our family is so broken… I don’t know what to do._

Another thought whispered in his mind, _What would Beth tell me right now?_

Ever since they left the farm, the older girl always came up with something to do to make things better. _We don’t get to be upset. We all have jobs to do._

During that long winter before they found the prison, when the group was chased from one house after another, barely stopping to rest, their stomachs empty for days, Carl remembered one particularly bleak day. He sat on the gravel by the road, sulking and ignoring whatever his mom was telling him. He remembered thinking maybe they should stay there and wait for the end.

Beth came over and said, “Carl, get up, help me with something,” and told him to help her look for small sticks that Daryl could make into arrows. At first Carl had been sullen, whining to Beth that there was no point, but he helped her anyway and after a half hour of poking around in the woods, he found that his stomach didn’t hurt quite as much.

Daryl appreciated the small gift, but he still wouldn’t let Carl fire his crossbow.

_I’m done feeling sorry for myself._

Carl wiped his eyes and straightened his hat. _Michonne will take care of my dad. I have to do this now._

With one hand steadying the frying pan handle and the other gripping the metal spatula, Carl mentally prepared himself for the task at hand. _Well, here goes nothing!_

Eyes narrowed in determination, Carl carefully pushed the edge of the spatula under the pancake and twisted his wrist. The half-cooked pancake flopped over onto itself in a splatter.

_Okay, next one wait a little longer_ , Carl thought as he attempted to push the splattered tendrils of pancake batter back into a more pancake-like shape.

Eventually he managed to flip that first pancake and it came out alright, a tad burnt in places but alright. The second attempt burnt quickly and stuck to the pan. Frustrated, Carl scraped the inedible mess out, letting it fall into the fire. Then he sprayed the pan with more cooking spray.

The next pancake turned out better. Pretty soon Carl fell into a rhythm of spray, pour, wait, nudge, wait, flip, wait, wait, scoop and turned out several decent looking pancakes.

Feeling accomplished, Carl took a bite from one of the small hotcakes slowly piling up on the big round plate. Of course he had to test it, for quality control.

It tasted good, considering how long it had been since he’d eaten any kind of bread.

He took another big bite. A cool gust of wind blew in through the open window. Carl shivered and decided it was okay to eat one pancake by himself. He’d save the rest to share with his dad and Michonne.

Carl put a spare dish towel over the plate to keep the pancakes warm and turned back to scoop another cup of batter only to discover flames creeping up the curtains.

Carl’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the fire. The wind must have blown the curtains too close to the make-shift campfire in the kitchen sink and the ends took light while his back was turned.

Reacting instinctually, Carl batted at the flames desperately with the spatula but it was no use. The spatula got tangled in the curtains and the flames only grew. He jerked his hand away, accidentally knocking the frying pan onto the floor in the process.

This was bad. Carl picked up the frying pan and stepped back from the sink, eyes searching over the room for anything that might help.

Another gust of wind rushed through the small opening in the window and the fire leapt higher. In seconds the cabinets on either side were starting to blacken around the edges.

The fire was spreading much faster than Carl could think of a way out of his predicament.

Coming to a decision, Carl let the frying pan slip out of his fingers and clatter to the floor once more. He turned on his heels and ran out of the kitchen, through the dining room and into the living room where he found his dad and Michonne.

They were sitting on the floor near the stairs, sitting very close together, Carl noted, arms draped around each other. His dad didn’t seem to be upset anymore, which was a relief. They were talking quietly.

Carl came to a halt in front of them. For some reason it felt a little awkward to interrupt them.

“Uh, you guys?” Carl said anxiously. Whatever was going on here would have to wait.

His dad looked up as if he hadn’t heard Carl run into the room. Rick stood up and started to say something, “Listen, Carl I don’t-”

“I need to tell you something important!” Carl declared, cutting him off.

Carl grimaced, almost reluctant to say it. _I’m going to be in SO much trouble._

Rick and Michonne were both standing now, staring at him expectantly.

“Please don’t be mad, but the kitchen is on fire.”

“What?” “The kitchen is what?”

Carl wasn’t sure who said what because they were talking at the same time but soon everyone was running into the kitchen to see what was going on.

Sure enough, the fire had spread to the cabinets and the wallpaper and looked to be growing steadily.

“Do we have a fire extinguisher?” Michonne asked, looking around and deftly grabbing the plate of pancakes from the counter and backing up into Rick, who backed up into Carl, who was hesitating in the doorway.

“It was an accident! I’m sorry!” Carl said, not sure if anyone was listening to him at that point. _Why does nothing ever go my way?!_


	8. Don't Let Me Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Carl’s well-intentioned but ultimately catastrophic breakfast endeavor, our little family of survivors must set off again. Will they find a new shelter? What adventures await them?

 

Rick looked at his son, the old Sherriff’s hat crooked over his anxious face.

“Please don’t be mad, but the kitchen is on fire.”

Those were about the last words that Rick expected to hear out of Carl’s mouth. He was expecting Carl to say something about Judith or Michonne’s son, Andre.

“The kitchen is what?” Rick repeated. Perhaps he had heard wrong.

At the same time, Michonne stood up, “What?”

Michonne ran into the kitchen to see what was going on, followed by Rick, followed by Carl.

Sure enough, the flimsy curtains on either side of the window over the sink were engulfed in flames and the fire was rapidly spreading to the cabinets and the wallpaper.

Rick’s mouth opened in surprise. This day was turning out to be all kinds of dramatic.

“Do we have a fire extinguisher?” Michonne asked, looking around. If there was one, there was no way they’d be able to find it in time.

Thinking quick, Michonne spotted the plate of pancakes on the counter, darted forward and grabbed it. She backed up away from the fire, bumping into Rick, who tried to back out of her way only to bump into Carl.  

“It was an accident! I’m sorry!” Carl said, eyes transfixed by the flames.                                                        

The three survivors stood bunched up in the doorway.

Michonne looked up at Rick expectantly, as if to say, ‘What should we do now?’

_What does she expect from me? I was a cop, not a firefighter!_

“Leave it,” Rick decided, his voice gaining a firmness that he hadn’t felt for some time, “Grab what you can and let’s go.”

Carl, Rick, and Michonne ran into the living room, shrugged on the jackets that Rick had found earlier that morning, and gathered up their bags of supplies. Michonne dumped the pancakes into a backpack and tossed the plate away.

“Hold on!” Carl said, remembering the EMT bag that was still upstairs from when Michonne gave Rick first aid the night before. He ran up the stairs and into the bedroom before anyone could stop him.

“Carl!” Rick yelled after him, “CARL!”

“I’m coming! Hold on!”

Carl used his arm to swipe the first aid supplies scattered on the bedside table into the big canvas bag, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder.

“CARL!” Rick yelled again, right as the boy reappeared at the top of the staircase.

Carl ran down the stairs, jumping over the last three. Michonne had already pushed the couch away from the front door and yanked it open.

The three beat a hasty retreat away from the house. Thankfully there were no walkers in sight, for the time being. They crossed the overgrown yard and stood on the other side of the street, looking back at the house.

A steady rain was coming down. Carl’s beloved hat protected him from the wet. Neither Rick nor Michonne’s jackets had hoods.

Carl wanted to stay and watch to see if the whole house would burn down but Rick said, “Let’s get going,” and they set off together.

The three walked for many hours, at times running and hiding from walkers, all the while getting pushed further and further into the housing development. Eventually they cut through some woods, passing a rusted out playground near some picnic tables, a few gruesomely decayed walkers caught in the jungle gym.

The day was dragging on, heavy mud clinging to their boots, when they came along a steep gravel driveway. It led to a large rustic-looking house. At least it probably used to be rustic-looking. Now it was hidden underneath the layers of leaves and dirt and stray shingles.

The glass in every visible window had been shattered, the doors hung on their hinges or were missing altogether, and a huge pine tree had fallen on the house, partially collapsing the side of the building.

The wrap-around porch, where it wasn’t obscured by the fallen tree, was rotted and broken through in several places. Rick didn’t think it was worth it to even look inside so he started to circle around the house and no one voiced an objection.

He wanted to find some safe shelter for the night. The rain had mostly let up, drizzling off and on now. _Maybe there’s a shed, or a garage, or something. Anything._

Behind the house they found a stretch of woods with a path that led to a lake. The scene was pretty. Despite everything else in the world, here was a beautiful piece of nature, seemingly untouched by death and horror.

“Look! A tree house!” Carl pointed excitedly, the first time he’d spoken up after hours of hiking.

Rick peered through the trees, “You’re right,” he told Carl, impressed that he’d spotted it.

Upon closer examination they saw a boxy wooden playhouse about ten feet off the ground, nestled in the branches of a massive oak tree. It had three walls and a roof. A tattered sheet of camouflage netting hung in the front but Rick could still make out some faded paint that probably used to be bright primary colors.

“Looks like someone could be living here,” Michonne whispered from Rick’s side.

“Hello?” Rick called out.

There was no response. If anyone had been staying in the tree house, they weren’t there now. Rick turned to Carl.

“Here, I’ll boost you up, see what you can see,” he said, bending down and lacing his fingers together to make a step for Carl.

Carl dropped his bags on the ground and, with his dad’s help and Michonne reaching out to balance him, managed to get his hands on the wooden platform. Straining to pull himself up, Carl peeked inside.

“It’s clear,” he said, “looks good. Push me higher!”

Rick grunted, pushed Carl’s miss-matched boots higher, his bruised ribs protesting the effort. Carl scrambled up into the tree house. Rick caught his breath and listened to his son investigating the tree house.

“Dad,” Carl came back to the edge, one hand holding a scrap of the camo sheet away from his face, “I think someone was living here. There’s some rolled up sleeping bags and some boxes, but it’s all kinda dusty.”

“We could stay here,” he concluded hopefully, “for a little while anyway.”

“Alight,” Rick agreed. _It’s as good a place as any._

They tossed their bags of gear up to Carl, who found a rope ladder and let it down for Rick and Michonne to climb up.

“Ladies first,” Rick said with a little smile, rain-soaked curls plastered to his face.

Michonne cracked a smile and shimmied up the rope ladder like she had been living in tree houses all her life.

Rick had considerably more difficulty. He had managed alright during their long trek but a steady trudge was different from climbing a wobbly, slippery rope ladder and his injuries were far from healed.

It all seemed to catch up to him after he got his feet on the first cross-rope. The dull ache in his bruised ribs, the burning pain in his leg, the creaking of the rope ladder as it swung back and forth; all of it conspired to make his head swim. And he was less than three feet off the ground!

_Pull yourself together, Grimes! You’ve got this!_ Rick gave himself an internal pep talk, rallying his determination.

Steadying his breath the best he could, Rick reached up with one hand, then another to grab the next higher cross-rope. _Slow and careful, that’s it, don’t fall…_ He took a step with his good leg, held on tight, and pulled himself higher.

_Don’t fall in front of Michonne!_ That would be about the most humiliating thing he could think of. _She’s already seen me at my lowest point, beaten down by the worst life could throw at me, many times over. I always stood back up, but if I fall now…she’ll think I’m a total klutz and that’ll be the end of it!_

He repeated the process, slowly climbing the ladder, refusing to look up, all the while telling himself, _Don’t fall in front of Michonne…Don’t fall…Why can’t I look cool in front of her just once? …Almost there!_  

After what felt like an eternity but was really closer to ten minutes, Rick reached the top of the rope ladder. Michonne’s hands were ready and waiting to grab his arms, helping him up onto the wooden platform.

“Sorry, I should have held it still and sent you up first. I didn’t think,” Michonne said apologetically, looking at him with concern in her face.

“It’s okay,” Rick said. He didn’t have the energy to say more.

It was reasonably dry inside the tree house, back from the open side. Someone or a couple someones had been staying there at some point, but the place wasn’t particularly neat or well-supplied so it was impossible to tell how recently. Whoever it was could be long gone by now.

Michonne spread out the sleeping bags and the three weary travelers sat in a row, leaning against the wall. They ate the crumbled bits of pancake that Michonne scooped out of her backpack. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to quiet their hunger.

Carl rummaged through the water-damaged and mouse-nibbled cardboard boxes stacked against one wall of the tree house.

To his surprise he found several metal ammo boxes with U.S. ARMY stenciled on the sides. Most were marked .50 CAL but one of the boxes held smaller caliber bullets and Carl and Rick each loaded their guns.

Rick slid his gun back into its holster, reassured by its weight, and went back to sit down next to Michonne, leaning his back against the smooth wood panels.

“You’re soaked,” he said, touching the soggy arm of her jacket.

“Hey, you’re one to talk,” Michonne replied, meeting his eyes.

She shifted closer to him and reached a hand up to his face.

Rick’s heart began to beat faster in anticipation.

“Here,” Michonne said softly, “this is about to come off anyway,” and pulled off the Band-Aid that she’d stuck on his cheek the night before.

“Ow!” Rick winced in surprise more than anything else.

He’d completely forgotten about the Band-Aid covering the cut on his face. Never mind the fact that he’d, quite irrationally as it turned out, been expecting her to do something else entirely. Maybe not so much expecting as wishing...  

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Rick ducked his head to hide his disappointment.

“I got this one,” he said, pulling off the Band-Aid that was stuck across the bridge of his nose.

“Suit yourself,” Michonne said nonchalantly.

Rick noticed Carl watching him and Michonne, an odd expression on his young face. Before he could say anything, Carl went back to sorting through the last of the boxes and Rick decided to let him be.

The tree house was quiet but for the sound of the occasional water droplet rolling off a leaf and falling to the roof.

Rick yawned. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes, pushed his wet hair back from his face. _Jacket is soaked through_ , he realized, and slowly removed his coat.

Michonne and Carl followed suit, spreading out the three wet jackets on the floor where hopefully they might dry.

Carl opened his mouth to suggest that they build a small fire to dry their clothes, remembered exactly why they had left that nice dry house in the first place, and closed his mouth again.

“Rick, get some rest,” Michonne said, “I’ll keep watch.”

He nodded his consent. That sounded like a fantastic plan. Truly exhausted, Rick unzipped a sleeping bag and crawled inside, for a fleeting moment feeling for all the world like his was back in Boy Scout camp.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Rick said before his eyes fell closed.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Michonne assured him with a soft smile, speaking for herself and for Carl.

* * *

TBC!

A/N: So, what do you think of my new setting? Poor Rick, rope ladders can be so difficult!

Preview: We’re pretty sure of Rick’s feelings at this point, but will Michonne finally reveal how she feels about Rick? What does Carl have to say about the matter? And how safe is this new shelter really?

 

 


	9. Searching for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michonne and Carl have a heart-to-heart.

 

Michonne sat at the open edge of the small tree house, watching the day fade into evening. The world outside was deceptively quiet. She knew enough to keep her guard up because that could change at any moment.

Inside the drafty tree house Rick was resting and Carl was wringing out his socks, trying to find a place to hang them up to dry. Michonne returned her attention to the forest outside.

The partially collapsed cabin was visible from her perch. There was a glimpse of the setting sun reflecting off the lake in the other direction.

Carl sat down beside her, letting his feet dangle off the edge of the platform.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” he asked, “The people who were staying here before?”

Michonne thought about this.

“I don’t know,” her hand unconsciously went to her sword, reassuring herself that it was still at her side, “We’ll keep a look out and if we see anyone coming, we’ll leave before they get here.”

“Unless it’s someone we know,” Carl said, and then added in a quieter voice, “someone from the prison.”

Michonne looked at him thoughtfully.

“Do you think anyone else got out? Do you think we’ll find them?” he asked, hope tainting his voice.

Michonne was quiet. Carl looked back out towards the forest.

Rick hadn’t said anything about looking for the others. It must have been pretty bad when he and Carl left. Michonne had lingered as long as she could after she lost track of Rick, hoping to see someone else alive, but there had only been smoke and walking corpses filling the prison yard when she left.

 _Even if someone else made it out, and survived this long on their own, out in the open_ , Michonne thought, _there’s no way to find them. With Rick hurt the way he is, there’s no way we can go out searching…_

 “I don’t know, Carl,” she said gently, “I don’t know if it’s possible to find people anymore, even if you do nothing but look for them.” _I should know, I searched for the Governor for weeks and what good did that do?_

“But you found us,” Carl pointed out.

“That’s right. I did.”

They were quiet for a while, Carl tossing stray acorns over the side, watching darkness fall, before he spoke up again.

“Michonne, can I ask you something?” he said.

She nodded for him to continue.

“Do you like my dad?”

Michonne frowned, “Of course I like him. We’re friends, you know that.”

“No…” Carl rolled his eyes, “Not that. I mean, do you _like_ like my dad?”

“Oh,” Michonne said. _So that’s the conversation we’re having…It’s not that obvious, is it?_

“It would be okay, you know, if you did,” Carl said seriously, “I’ll always miss my mom, but things are different now. I just think it would be okay.”

Carl trailed off. He looked down, scratching at the faded paint on the floor.

“It’s better when you’re around. He’s not so… With the three of us, it almost feels like we’re a real family again,” Carl finished, his voice cracking at that last bit.

“Oh, honey,” Michonne said, moving over close to him and draping an arm over his shoulders.

Carl wiped his eyes with his sleeve but he didn’t resist. He leaned his head on Michonne’s shoulder.

“You are a real family,” she told him softly, “Your dad loves you, Carl. You know that, right? He loves you more than anything.”

“I know,” Carl sniffled. If Michonne said it, it had to be true. He knew it was true.

“And I love you too. I’m not going anywhere without you and Rick again,” Michonne promised.

“I love you, too, Michonne,” he said it back, feeling a little better.

He didn’t want Michonne to replace his mom. It wasn’t like that; he was too independent now and they were good as friends, but even so he knew that she protected him sometimes. She comforted him.

“And my dad? Do you love him too?” Carl looked up at Michonne, a small smile crossing his features.

“You’re not letting that go, are you?” she replied.

“Come on! You owe me an answer!” Carl said, knowing he was pushing his luck, but he had to try. Even if he’d gotten sidetracked for a moment there, he wasn’t giving up that easily!

Michonne glanced back over her shoulder at Rick. He was lying in a partly zipped green sleeping bag, his forearm over his eyes to block out the light.

“You don’t have to say it out loud, just shake your head yes or no,” Carl pleaded.

Michonne nodded once, and then looked back out towards the lake. She had to keep watch, after all.

“Okay,” Carl smiled to himself.

They sat in peace until the stars came out and Carl yawned. He was nearly asleep already, leaning against Michonne’s shoulder.

“Go on, get some sleep,” she told him.

Michonne watched Carl move towards the back of the tree house and settle in next to Rick for the night.

* * *

TBC!

A/N: So, do you think Rick was really asleep or maybe he was pretending to be asleep?

 


	10. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger will follow Rick, Carl, and Michonne wherever they go. That’s the way the world is now. No more taking breaks. Will they be able to work together and keep each other safe? Will they grow closer?

 

Broken glass crunched under Michonne’s boots. She shaded her eyes with her hands and peeked through the empty window, careful not to touch any of the sharp pieces of glass resting on the sill.

“See anything?” Carl asked.

“Nah, just trash and leaves, looks like,” Michonne answered, stepping away from the window again.

It wouldn’t be safe to try and go inside the dilapidated cabin, but she was curious enough to take a peek.

The three survivors camped out in the tree house for the better part of a week without incident. A single walker appeared two days ago and it was quickly dispatched with a katana.

An unlucky bunny and a few squirrels found their way into Rick’s snares, which went a long way towards supplementing their meager diet of energy bars and stale cereal. Still, even rationing carefully, they were running very low on food.

Michonne changed Rick’s bandage a couple times and kept feeding him antibiotics from their scavenged EMT bag, for good measure. She tried to minimize how many times he climbed up and down that rope ladder on his injured leg. He was slowly healing and gaining back his strength, but he wasn’t all the way there yet.

“Let’s head on back,” Michonne said, turning to go, “bring these up to your dad.”

They’d collected a bundle of sticks, little twigs, vines, and scraps of string. Maybe Rick could fashion a fishing lure. Maybe there were fish in the lake.

“Uh-huh,” Carl answered distractedly, nudging at something on the ground with his foot. He bent over and picked it up, flicking off a clump of dirt.

“What ya got?” Michonne asked.

“Just another bullet,” Carl said, holding the empty shell casing up to catch the light then tossing it aside and following Michonne back around the side of the cabin.

There were large caliber bullet casings on the ground, most of them hidden by the overgrown grass and fallen leaves, but there were hundreds, maybe thousands, scattered around the cabin and all through the woods near the tree house.

Clearly there had been a major battle here, maybe more than one. Some of the shells were old and rusted and caked with dirt but some were newer.

‘Someone had their last stand here,’ was Carl’s theory the first time he noticed the splintered bullet holes in the tree trunks, in the walls of the cabin, ‘like the Alamo. They got overrun.’

 _Like the prison_ , is what he really meant.

‘No,’ Rick had said slowly, ‘It wasn’t a last stand. If it was, then where are the bodies? Whoever fought here, they won.’

‘But what did they do with the bodies then? There’s nothing here,’ Michonne was left wondering. There were no graves, no charred patches from burning corpses.

Rick didn’t have an answer to that, but later he found himself gazing out at the lake, a worried feeling nagging at the edges of his mind.

“Michonne!” Carl’s whisper was sharp with urgency, immediately snapping her back to the present.

She looked where he was pointing.

Three walkers, no, four, were approaching through the trees. _If we run now, they’ll cut us off before we reach the tree house…Too late to hide, they’ve seen us!_

“Stay behind me,” Michonne ordered Carl. She dropped her bundle of sticks on the ground, all thoughts of fishing forgotten, and drew her sword.

Carl obeyed, pulling his gun out of its holster but keeping it down by his side. Gunfire was to be avoided unless absolutely necessary.

Michonne tightened her grip on the hilt of her katana, focused her thoughts, step forward, wait, to the left, swing!

A rotting corpse fell to the ground, head separated from the body.

The second walker was close behind the first. Michonne raised her sword above her head, brought it down at an angle, cleanly slicing off about a third of the walker’s skull. Brain matter sloshed out as the dead man fell to the forest floor with a thud.

The other walkers were still several strides away.

“Go!”

Carl ran for the tree house, Michonne right behind him.

The third walker came at her from the side. She blocked it with a shove but it was only knocked off balance for a moment.

Michonne lunged and put her blade straight through the decayed man’s forehead and pulled it back in one motion.

She turned to see Carl had stopped in his tracks, gun raised and pointed at something behind her.

The fourth walker was lumbering towards them slowly on broken ankles, constantly veering to the right then correcting itself, pushed onwards by an inhuman hunger.

That wasn’t all. Behind that walker, she saw them, the bent figures emerging from the darkness deeper in the old forest. More walkers were coming, she couldn’t count how many, drawing closer every second.

“Run!” Michonne yelled to Carl and they both broke into a sprint, dodging through the trees.

“DAD!” Carl yelled as he ran. Rick was still in the tree house.

Breathless seconds later, Carl made it to the dangling rope ladder. He glanced back once to see that Michonne had stopped, holding her sword in a defensive position, standing between him and the advancing herd.

“Hurry!” Michonne ordered.

Carl nodded, heart pounding in his ears, willing his body to move faster. He holstered his gun, grabbed the first cross-rope, and began to climb.

 _One_. Michonne filled her lungs with air. _Two_. They’re here. _Three_. She exhaled slowly and swung wide, decapitating a growling walker, reversed her motion, slicing another nearly in two. It fell down heavily, one arm reaching up to grasp the air. Michonne pulled her blade out of its torso.

The herd was upon her now but she wasn’t scared. _Don’t stop to think about it, follow your instincts and act! Save the fear for later. That’s the only way to survive_.

Michonne fought the walkers, trusting her muscles to call up the correct moves as she needed them. Strike, recover, swing, strike, retreat a few more paces, attack, spin, attack again, breathe, strike again. Her katana was an extension of her body, responding flawlessly to her every command.

She struck down walker after walker, waiting for an opening.

“Michonne!” Rick’s voice, loud and deep.

“Come on!” Carl’s voice, desperate.

There was no opening! Michonne swung wide, decapitating two walkers at once. She leaped over their bodies but it was no good. She was surrounded, hands grabbing at her from all directions.

BAM!

Michonne winced involuntarily at the loud blast. She saw a walker collapse in front of her, dark blood streaming from its ruined face.

BAM! BAM BAM BAM!

Michonne froze, some part of her brain telling her not to move, don’t get in the way of their aim.

For a spilt second she looked up and saw Rick standing at the edge of the tree house, his expression fierce, back straight, his smoking gun confidently finding target after target. He looked for all the world like a cowboy in the old west, like he was born to win a shootout.

Rick, with Carl now standing at his side, continued to fire, clearing a path for Michonne.

She ran then and closed the distance to the rope ladder.

“Come on!” Rick yelled down to her.

 _Don’t look back! Just go! GO!_ Michonne slid her katana into its sheath without even flicking away the blood and began to climb the rope ladder.

Rick and Carl shot two more walkers before they could grab Michonne’s legs.

Her hands at the second to last cross-rope, Michonne’s feet slipped when a walker below her grabbed ahold of the rope ladder, jerking it hard. She caught herself just in time, hooking her arm through the rope ladder and holding on for dear life.

BAM!

The walker fell. Swinging her legs, Michonne fumbled and managed to regain her balance on the ladder. She pulled herself up one more step and the next thing she saw was Rick’s hands reaching out to grab her arms.

Rick pulled her bodily up onto the platform, Carl grabbing a handful of her shirt to help.

Finally safe from the hungry mob below, Michonne closed her eyes in relief. She took several long, deep breaths in an effort to calm her racing heart. _That was close!_

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Rick asked urgently, fear in his voice.

He brushed her dreadlocks aside so he could see her face, his blue eyes full of concern.

Michonne swallowed and found her voice, “I’m okay.”

Rick needed a little more convincing before he could relax. He quickly checked over her arms and legs but found no sign of any bites or scratches.

“I’m okay,” Michonne repeated, as much for herself as for Rick. She was feeling a bit calmer now.

Michonne cracked a small smile.

Rick used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe a splatter of dark blood from her cheek.

“We make a good team,” she said, “the three of us.”

“Yeah,” Rick agreed, “we do.”

He reached around Michonne to squeeze Carl’s shoulder.

“You did good, son,” Rick affirmed. He had meant what he said that first day after the prison fell. He was proud of Carl and how he handled himself in a crisis.

Michonne tapped the rim of Carl’s hat, making it fall over his eyes until he pushed it back up. From her, it was an affectionate gesture.

Carl smiled. They really did feel like a family.

The happy moment didn’t last long enough. Soon the three survivors’ attention was drawn back to the outside world.

They were surrounded. Trapped.

Walking dead crowded around the tree trunk, around the dangling rope ladder, a steadily growing horde of reaching arms, snapping teeth, moaning and hissing. The stench was terrible and more and more came through the woods, drawn by the gunfire and the excitement, pushing in on the walkers already there.

The tall oak’s trunk was strong and wide. It would not give way, no matter how many walkers pushed themselves against it.

The herd was large, larger than the group that had brought the fence down at the prison when only Rick and Carl had been left to stop it.

For several minutes Michonne, Rick, and Carl watched in silence. Carl brushed his hair out of his eyes and readjusted his hat. Michonne leaned against Rick, her body tired from the fighting. His arm was still around her. He was in no hurry to move.

A lake of dead people had formed below the tree house.

They were all thinking the same thing but it was Carl who said it aloud first.

“What do we do now?”

* * *

TBC!


	11. Where I Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick, Carl, and Michonne cope with their new and perilous situation.

 

Three world-weary survivors took shelter in a children’s tree house, an island in a sea of rotting corpses. The growls and moans were like the small waves lapping against the shore of a lake.

The boy spoke first, “What do we do now?”

Nobody had an answer to that. There was nowhere to run, not nearly enough bullets to make a difference.

“I’ll think of something,” his father said at last.

Rick glanced at Michonne, “We’ll think of something. We have to.”

Michonne nodded.

“Let’s get back from the edge,” Rick said, helping Michonne to her feet and herding them all further back into the small tree house.

They sat again, leaning against the far wall. They couldn’t see the walkers right below them, but they were still there.

“There’s nothing we can do for now. We’ll wait. Maybe, if we’re quiet and we don’t move around, they’ll eventually forget we’re here…” Rick trailed off. That was hardly a plan, but it was all he had at the moment.

Carl stared straight ahead.

More walkers were coming and joining the crush below them, drawn by the echoing gunfire from moments before, but they were only coming in ones and twos now, the stragglers.

“Rick…you know that’s not how it works,” Michonne said softly.

“Unless something distracts them, something big, they won’t forget we’re here. They won’t leave. They’ll stay here, staring up at this tree for weeks, months.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Rick said.

“I know.”

They went through their bags of supplies and the boxes and miscellaneous items that they’d found in the tree house, taking a careful inventory.

There were enough bullets to fill Carl and Rick’s guns each twice over. There were the cases of .50 cal bullets, which were useless without the right gun to shoot them. Whoever had owned all that ammunition, they took their machine gun with them when they left.

“We can’t do anything with the sun setting,” Rick said, “Carl, try and get some rest.”

Carl nodded. He didn’t feel like lying down, not with so many walkers so close by. He pulled his knees up and rested his head on his arms.

“I’ll keep watch first. Let’s all be real quiet, okay?” Rick said.

_Not that it’ll do any good…_ Carl wanted to say, but for once he kept his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted to do was act like a whiny kid in front of Michonne, even if he _was_ right.

Carl sighed. He didn’t see how he would be able to sleep at all tonight. _Best not to think about it too hard, you’ve slept in plenty of dangerous places before, remember? Dad and Michonne will come up with a plan…_

The boy drifted in and out of sleep, his thoughts falling back on the people he missed…Judith, Beth, Hershel, Daryl…Daryl’s awesome crossbow that he still never let Carl shoot, even though his arms were _definitely_ long enough now, that would sure come in handy at a time like this…

Michonne sat by Rick’s side, mirroring Carl. Despite the danger surrounding them, despite the urgency to think of something to do about it, she was tired.

Fighting that many walkers, all at once, in the moment it had been an adrenaline rush, a desperate battle for life. Afterwards, however, her muscles ached and her head felt dizzy.

Her eyes grew heavy as the sun set. _I should focus, think of something…anything…_ but her head nodded forward.

Michonne sat up straight, frowned, tried to focus her eyes on the view outside the tree house.

She noticed Rick watching her. His eyes looked distant, sad, and worried. Worry was never far from the surface. Michonne tried to muster a smile, to encourage him, _Don’t worry about me…_ but ended up with a huge yawn.

Michonne blinked slowly. Her head nodded forward again, ended up resting on Rick’s shoulder.

Before she could move, not that she had any immediate intention of moving, Rick put his arm around her shoulders, shifting a little closer so that she could lean against him comfortably.

Rick didn’t say anything. Michonne’s eyes closed again.

Distantly, Michonne realized that it had been a very long time since someone had put an arm around her. It felt nice. It felt nice to have someone who cared enough to do that much. _Rick finally seems comfortable around me…_

_I seem to end up like this, close to him, more and more often these days…_ Michonne thought back on everything that had happened since her reunion with Rick and Carl after the prison fell, the moments that she had shared with Rick.

She recalled the way Rick had hugged her when he found out about Andre, how he let her comfort him when he finally broke down and cried for Judith.

She remembered how she fell asleep beside Rick after giving him first aid the second night after she found them, how she cuddled up against him when the night got cold. She remembered waking up to the sensation of Rick running his fingertips along her bare arm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to wake up like that, together.

She remembered how relieved Rick had looked when they were reunited, how Carl had come running around the house and crushed her in a hug, the first real hug that she’d had in over a year.

_Yes_ , Michonne thought, _whatever happens tomorrow, this is where I belong._

As she was drifting off to sleep, Michonne thought she heard Rick say something quietly. Maybe he was thinking out loud. Either way, she fell asleep before she could respond.

“Even after everything we’ve done, I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this one…I really don’t.”

* * *

TBC!

Preview: What schemes will our heroes cook up to get out of trouble this time? What alarming sight will greet Michonne when she wakes up in the morning? Is Rick still holding out hope for a happy ending to this story?

 

 


	12. So What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our three heroes are still trapped in that little tree house, tired and hungry and surrounded by a herd of tireless and hungry walkers. What will they think of to get out of this one? Is there any hope left?

 

Michonne opened her eyes to the cool light of early morning. Last night she fell asleep cuddled up next to Rick, his arm heavy and comforting around her shoulders. This was the second time in as many days. A small smile tugged at her lips at that thought.

Sometime in the night she had stretched out on one of the old sleeping bags. She heard Rick get up and stretch.

Michonne turned her head to the side.

Rick’s worn boots stepped past her, his movements slow and careful not to disturb Michonne or Carl.

Dimly, his words from last night drifted through Michonne’s mind again. His voice had been quiet and sad.

“Even after everything we’ve done…I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this one…I really don’t.”

It had been a whisper, a tired admission of fear…the very real possibility of defeat.

Michonne rubbed her eyes to clear them and looked again.

Rick’s boots took one more step forward, then another. He was right at the edge of the wooden platform overlooking the herd of agitated walkers. He shifted his weight, standing on the precipice, the tips of his boots edging into the air.

Panic gripped Michonne’s heart.

“ _RICK!!!_ ” in an instant, she was on her feet and leaping across the distance between them.

She wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled hard, stumbling backwards.

“Wha-” Rick fell backwards, landing more or less on top of Michonne.

“What in the hell,” Rick exclaimed in shock, “Michonne? What are-”

At the same time, Michonne demanded, “ _Rick! What are you doing?!_ ”

Rick frowned in confusion, “Uh, I was gonna take a piss.”

It was Michonne’s turn to say, “What?”

“I have to pee,” Rick stated, eyebrows raised in bewilderment at Michonne’s erratic behavior.

She glanced down and, sure enough, his zipper was already undone.

“Oh,” Michonne blinked in realization, her panic dissipating.

“You were going to pee on the walkers?” she asked, incredulous, thinking that it was unusual for Rick to do something like that. He didn’t even like to kill them unless absolutely necessary.

“You got somewhere better in mind?” Rick retorted, then added, “Hold on!”

He wasn’t letting her off that easy, “What did you think I was doing?”

“I don’t know…” Michonne muttered, moving to get up and brush herself off after their ungraceful tumble to the floor.

Rick grabbed her arm before she could stand, forcing her to look at him again, “Did you think I was going to _jump_?!”

“No! I didn’t think that!” she said, looked away in exasperation, then met his eyes again, “Rick, I swear, I didn’t think that for more than a second! You could have been sleepwalking, anything! I don’t know.”

She sighed, “The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was you walking towards the edge, okay?”

Rick’s expression softened.

“I don’t sleepwalk,” he informed her, somewhat bemused despite everything.

“Well now I know that,” Michonne said, getting up and brushing herself off.

She pointedly neglected to apologize for the misunderstanding. After all, if he _had_ been sleepwalking, she would have saved his life!

Rick’s expression was unreadable. He felt at once touched by Michonne’s overprotectiveness, amused by the awkward misunderstanding, and sobered by the lethal danger surrounding him.

“Alright then, carry on,” Michonne made a dismissive hand gesture and crossed to the other side of the tree house, leaving Rick to take care of his business.

Carl was woken up by all the early morning commotion. He yawned and stretched his arms.

Realizing that he also needed to pee, Carl got up and went to join his father at the edge, mirroring his stance. They exchanged a rare smirk at Michonne’s expense.

Michonne busied herself rolling up the sleeping bags and doing her morning stretches.

Later, the three hungry survivors were gathered in the center of the small tree house, each lost in thought.

Rick hefted one of the full ammunition boxes, “These are heavy enough, we could bash a few skulls in, but there’s not enough to make a difference…”

Carl spoke up, “I wish we had Daryl’s crossbow. That would really help.”

Rick felt a pang of grief at the mention of his friend, but he continued along that line of thought, “We would need a lot of arrows.”

“We could make some!” Carl began to grow excited, jumping up and motioning around them, “We’ll gather some sticks, sharpen them…What do you think?”

Rick considered this. They certainly had ready access to a tree full of sticks, hunting knifes to sharpen the ends, maybe use them like spears, pick off the walkers one by one…it could work. Either way, he didn’t have any better suggestions and it would do them good to keep busy.

“It’s worth a try,” Rick agreed with his son, “Let’s gather a few sticks and get started.”

They searched around inside the tree house, reached outside the cut-out windows, and pretty soon had gathered a handful of thin sticks. Carl drew his hunting knife and set about sharpening the end of a medium-sized stick.

Michonne watched them move around, getting to work, frowning in concentration.

“This is stupid,” Michonne said, startling her companions.

Surprise registered on Carl’s face. Rick’s mouth fell open, at a loss for words. It was uncharacteristic for Michonne to say something so critical and petty. 

Michonne didn’t notice their confusion. She stood, caught up in some inspiration known only to her, and moved towards the far wall.

She picked up her sword and drew the blade from its sheath, careful in the cramped quarters.

“We’ll use this,” she declared.

“We’ll attach a rope somehow, I’ll throw it straight down like this,” she made a motion like she was stabbing the ground, “kill a walker, pull the sword back up with the rope, then repeat.”

Rick nodded in appreciation, “We don’t have much in the way of rope, but we’ll improvise. Let’s do it.”

Carl was intrigued, but not ready to give up on his arrow making idea.

“You could use the straps from our bags and backpacks…or cut the straps for tying up the sleeping bags,” Rick suggested.

Carl continued sharpening the stick in his hand. It couldn’t hurt to have a Plan B.

Rick stood and glanced over the edge of the wooden platform, judging the distance to the walkers below, “I think this could work.”

Michonne stood by his side, mimed stabbing the sword straight down without letting go of it.

“Like smushing ants on the sidewalk,” she said to herself.

Rick began to unbuckle his belt.

Michonne gave him a skeptical look, “Rick, this is hardly the time to pee! Seriously.”

Carl chuckled at that, causing Michonne to crack a smile as well, letting Rick know that she wasn’t serious.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at her teasing.

He pulled his belt all the way out of his belt loops. It was a sturdy leather belt and, just as he thought, the rectangular metal buckle was the right size. He slid the blade of the sword through the buckle so that it rested against the hilt.

Rick tied the belt in a knot around the base of the handle. This way it wouldn’t swing around and cut the belt when they put it into action. He tied it again at the top of the handle so that, when he held the now very short end of the belt, the sword hung relatively straight down.

It was haphazard at best, but he thought it could work.

“This could work,” Michonne echoed his thoughts, holding the contraption and twisting it this way and that, “Needs to be much longer.”

They tied together the strap from the nylon EMT bag, a few other sturdy looking backpack straps, and the straps from the sleeping bags, taking their time to make each knot tight and secure. Michonne and Carl reluctantly handed over their belts as well.

Finally, they were ready to start.

* * *

TBC!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview: Will Michonne’s plan work? Will everyone’s pants fall down without their belts? All the important questions will be answered soon!


	13. I'm Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s all come down to this. Will their desperate plan work?

 

Michonne stood at the edge of the wooden platform where the fourth wall of the little tree house should have been. Rick stood beside her. He took a handful of the tattered camouflage tarp that was half-covering the opening and pulled it loose.

Michonne held her katana out in front of her, blade pointed towards the center of the earth, both hands gripping the handle tightly, muscles tensed and ready for action.

The other end of the makeshift rope attached to the sword was tied around Rick.

Originally she had wanted to tie it to herself. It was her sword, after all, but Rick said, “No, I’m heavier. You focus on hitting the target and I’ll focus on pulling it back up again. “

The warrior woman looked to her right.

“Ready?” she asked.

Rick held the rope with both hands, preparing himself, several feet of slack between them. He nodded.

“Ready.”

Michonne’s keen eyes picked a target. It was easy; there were so many targets, but she still had to hit the walker’s head directly with enough force to kill it.

She raised her arms high, keeping the sword perfectly vertical, adjusted her aim, then brought her arms down sharply and let go. The blade sung through the air and sunk deep into the skull of walker.

The corpse slumped down. For a moment it was held mostly upright by the pressure of the other walkers crowded around it, giving Rick time to pull the rope taut. The slain walker started to fall beneath the mass of clawing hands, pulling the white and black hilt with it.

Rick braced himself and heaved. The sword was weighed down, lodged firmly in the dead man. Rick tightened his grip, yanked again, harder, and again, leaning back. The sword slid loose and Rick reeled the rope back in as quickly as he could, before a walker could grab it.

The katana banged into the wooden platform and Michonne deftly grabbed it.

“Got it!” she said.

“It worked!” Carl exclaimed.

Rick rubbed his hands on his jeans. He was going to have some serious rope burn before this was over.

“Alright,” he said, “This time, I’ll give it a little less slack. We don’t want your sword to get crushed under there.”

“Okay,” Michonne agreed. Now they had a better estimate of the distance and the amount of rope required.

“Carl, keep your gun ready. If a walker grabs the sword and I can’t pull it up, you need to shoot it,” Rick ordered.

Their plan was good, but it was still risky. The last thing he wanted to do was lose Michonne’s sword.

Pretty soon, they had a routine worked out and walker after walker fell. They killed upwards of a dozen walkers before taking a break.

After catching their breath, the team started again; Michonne aiming carefully, the bloody katana plunging into another walker’s skull, Rick straining to pull the rope back up, Michonne catching the sword and flicking off the excess brain matter...then repeat.

A couple times Michonne and Carl had to help Rick pull the rope.

Rick kept telling Michonne not to lean so far forward, to which she’d reply that she was fine, she was being careful, and he would sigh and make sure Carl was ready in case anything happened.

Michonne raised the sword high, poised to strike.

“Rick,” she said, lowering her sword, “I think we have a problem.”

He turned to look at her curiously.

“Look,” Carl said, noticing it too, “Do they look closer than before?”

“Yeah,” Rick answered slowly, worry edging into his voice.

The reaching, grasping hands and angry mouths definitely seemed about three or four feet closer to the tree house than before.

“They’re standing on top of the dead ones!” Rick realized, “As soon as we kill one, the others climb over it.”

“We have to stop,” Michonne said, a sense of dread in her voice.

For a few minutes they all stood still, thinking about what would happen if they continued like this. There were too many walkers. There were probably a hundred gathered under the tree, easy. As many as they kill, the others would step over the bodies, pushed forward by the walkers behind them.

It was a bizarre, horrifying situation, but no less real. If the walkers reached the tree house, managed to climb inside…they could fight for a while, push them back over the side.

It wouldn’t work. There were too many walkers. They would be trapped, cornered, and that would be the end.

Michonne stared at the problem below them. Part of her wanted to keep killing them. She wanted to fight! She would not go down without a fight! The practical part of her, however, knew that this plan wasn’t working, not the way it was supposed to.

She looked at Rick again, afraid. _Rick…what do we do now?_

“We wait,” he answered her unspoken question, “for now, we wait.”

_For what?_ Carl looked up at his dad. _Wait to think of something better? Wait for a rescue that’s not coming? Wait for the walkers to get bored and leave? Wait to die?_ There was a lot he wanted to say right then but when he opened his mouth he thought better of it and nothing came out.

The three weary survivors backed away from the edge. Carl sat back down near their small pile of gear. Michonne leaned against the wall, lost in thought.

Rick paced around the small area, looking at the situation outside from every angle. Michonne was watching him and he expected her to tell him to stop moving but she didn’t. He re-hung the old camo tarp at the front of the tree house. It partially covered the opening.

They were quiet the rest of the afternoon. Carl continued sharpening sticks and Michonne, with nothing better to do, eventually joined him. Rick checked his revolver, counted their bullets, looked out the windows, counted the walkers, checked his gun again.

They were all hungry and thirsty, frustrated and discouraged. Darkness fell quickly in the woods.

“Carl, come here,” Rick patted an unrolled sleeping bag, “It’s getting cold.”

Carl did as he was told, even though he didn’t feel cold or even sleepy, for that matter. He took off his hat and got into a sleeping bag.

“I’ll keep watch,” Michonne told Rick.

He rolled out a sleeping bag next to his son. Rick gently brushed Carl’s hair away from his face and kissed his forehead like he used to when Carl was little and Rick got home late from work. Rick lay down but he couldn’t sleep.

The sky was clear and the moon was full. Usually whoever took first watch would wake the other about halfway through the night. Rick dozed off at some point and he didn’t wake up to take watch, so Michonne let him sleep.

Michonne didn’t want to watch what was outside so for hours she sat beside Rick, resting her chin on her knees, and watched over the two people she loved most in this world. Moonlight filtered through the tree branches and into the cut-out windows and fell on their faces.

Later, the sky began to lighten; Michonne watched the shadows gradually fall away from Rick and Carl.

Rick looked troubled, worried even in his sleep. The cuts and bruises from his fight with the Governor were almost gone, leaving only a few small scars that would likely fade in time.

Michonne leaned closer, studying him. She didn’t get to do that often, when he was awake. Impulsively, she reached over and brushed a stray curl from his forehead, lightly traced her fingers over the ridge of his nose, along his jaw.

She felt sad but, somehow, at peace. _Whatever happens to us here, this is where I belong. I only wish he knew…_

Realizing that she had been thinking these same thoughts over and over, spinning them through her mind in the small hours of the morning, Michonne bent her head and softly kissed Rick.

His lips were a little rough but warm. She lingered just a fraction of a second longer than she meant to, not that she meant to do that at all until it was happening.

She pulled back and almost immediately froze, finding herself staring into a pair of blue eyes. 


End file.
